


The Reason Why (and other tales from Midgard)

by Caepio



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 50 words, Curiosity, M/M, Madness, Past Relationship(s), Presumed Dead, Random & Short, Secrets, Short One Shot, awkward mythology, not necessarily related short stories, past history, svadilfari - Freeform, wordcount: 50
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8636245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caepio/pseuds/Caepio
Summary: This is a collection of not necessarily related short FrostIron stories. Some will be very short, some will be longer, really whatever strikes my fancy. If you like a particular one and want to read more in that vein, let me know, and I'll consider adding to it.





	1. Reasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a collection of not necessarily related short FrostIron stories. Some will be very short, some will be longer, really whatever strikes my fancy. If you like a particular one and want to read more in that vein, let me know, and I'll consider adding to it.

Loki grins at him from across the helicarrier, laughing through the blood and sweat, already breathless - He catches Tony’s eye with a smile, and for a second Tony remembers why he puts up with it all:

Loki is a charming bastard and Tony can’t quite resist the promise of forever.


	2. Accidents

“Is this…” Tony’s voice trails off. Loki doesn’t look up.  


“Did you really-” Again, he doesn’t complete his sentence.  


“Hypothetically-“  


“What is it, Stark?” Loki grants Tony a brief glance from over the top of his book. 

“Nothing. Forget about it.”  


Loki does.  


“Just-” The dam breaks. “It says here you gave birth to an 8 legged horse named Sleipnir.”  


Loki hesitates, then continues the motion of taking a sip of tea. The previous page of his book falls into his place as he turns it, but his eyes are frozen, locked on one point. “Who told you that?” He asks. Such boredom in his tone.  


Tony climbs over the back of the couch, hooks his legs over Loki’s lap, and drops a paperback book on top of the open pages already in Loki’s hands. “I thought I’d do my research. Get to know a little about the competition.”  


“Competition?” Loki asks, smoothly sliding the offered book beneath the open one in his hands.  


“Yeah - You know. For your favour, or whatever you’d call it. Giants, dwarves… draft horses. If you come wandering in with grass in your hair, or develop an inexplicable fondness for oats, should I be concerned?”  


“Svadilfari’s dead.” Loki murmurs automatically. He picks up his cup of tea again, “And that, was an accident.”


	3. Music

Tony isn’t the sort to be a musician. He can’t be the kind of man that has a relationship that is one long constant of well played notes. He does explosions and sudden, brilliant moments of inspiration best. So it sometimes surprises him, but most often doesn’t, that he and Loki should fit. Opposites attract they say, and they aren't really opposites. Loki isn’t much like music either. 

The moments that stick with Tony are not some long narrative with each piece clearly coming from the one before, weaving in harmony. No, they are the moments in between. The moments when Loki is pleased enough, amused enough, happy enough to let everything else slide for a moment. When he throws himself into a moment with enough force to make his identity a kind of volatile reaction in itself. When he imprints his emotion, his thoughts on everything around him. 

They work out their own relationship through this, their own music, and it may be a little wild at times, it may scare the life out of anyone who crosses them in one of their respective moods, but it suits them just fine. And really, what else matters?


	4. Abandoned

Loki likes abandoned places. He likes to sit on the edge of the stage in disused movie theaters and stare at the dust laden velvet seats. He likes to wander for hours in old factories and collapsed tenement buildings. 

Tony sometimes wonders if it’s because they are places in limbo. Like Loki. Loki is dead but there’s always the potential - a fear and a promise, that he might come alive again. 

Sometimes Tony thinks of taking one of those abandoned places and returning it to life, throwing enough money at it that it could be something again, or if it never was, become it. But Loki isn’t an abandoned place. Not in that sense. Not quite. Loki is one of those self-abandoned people, and it will take something other than a momentary desire and deep pockets to fix him. Loki would have to re-enliven himself. 

It’s lucky for Tony that Loki has a sense of aesthetic. He can almost predict where Loki might show up next - always a place of solitude, always empty, always exquisitely beautiful in both those things - and so he follows him. Flying the night skies above Europe he watches the tiny villages and great cities speed past beneath him in pinpricks of light that blur together - looking, searching for a place of nothing. Of potentiality that failed and sits still. It’s there he usually finds Loki - amongst dusty glass windows that reflect back the sunset, and once polished wooden floors that sound dully with each step.

An abandoned military hospital in Germany this time. 

Tony brushes past the vines that hang over the entrance, the doors twisted on their hinges. The early morning sunlight pours down, pure and intoxicating in its solitude from the half shattered glass windows. Loki is standing at the top of the staircase, staring up through the sky lights at the morning blue of the heavens. Tony knows his presence does not go unnoticed- knows any second now Loki will wander down the stair case to meet him, and he finally does - modern clothes this time, a long black coat sweeping the foot of each stair as he steps down, fingers lightly trailing across the pale wood of the banister, tapping a light rhythm. 

Once, Loki wouldn’t have come. Once he would have seen Tony and chosen to walk away again, or shift form, rather than say a word to the mortal. They had an understanding now - of sorts. They were both abandoned places, but with an audience the abandoned became real - and the only cure was rushing to another, to see the self reflected in their eyes. 

If he was lucky - Loki would let him take him back into some crowded place, they’d eat dinner together in some corner restaurant down a backstreet of a brightly lit city, hiding in the shadows and watching the world over glasses of dark wine. 

Loki was always in the backstreets. He hid well, like it was what came most naturally to him - to stay in the shadows and never let identity come to light. His laughter was now a privilege. A smile from him was a victory on Tony’s part - if he was the cause. Loki did not laugh at things outside of himself anymore, except on rare, very rare occasions. As rare as Tony finally tracking him down in a place like this. And it was only infrequently that he smiled. 

Loki was smiling now. He’d stepped down from the staircase, standing in front of Tony with cobwebs in his hair and a wraith of a smile curling his lips - Tony could see the lines in his face where the smile would ordinarily turn into a full laugh of amused delight, head thrown back, lips parted to show his teeth. But not now. Ouroborus eyes watched him with a shadowed amusement that did not touch what it used to be. Safety did not allow unrestrained emotion. And that was what Loki had been and was no more. Unrestrained, uninhibited, and desperately amused. 

It was like some exploding star had finally turned in on itself. Loki’s madness had always been thrown outside of himself, echoing back to him with his laughter. It had changed direction now. He’d swallowed it whole - deep inside himself now. Destructive to himself and not just others. He hid it in darting glances and and the choked back, bare laughs that whispered up from within him. He never really meant to laugh anymore. He didn’t control it. He was reaching for control in so many other places that he’d lost it in this one. His breath would catch, the beginning of a laugh, and then, helpless, he’d be bent over, his long hair brushing the floor as he laughed in an extreme of self-amusement. 

“I was hoping you’d find me.” Loki finally said - with all the softness of a lover, his low voice sweet. And Tony wondered if he could trust the sentiment in it. But it didn’t matter either way. He didn’t come here for trust. Loki didn’t look for it in him. They allowed each other because with each other they could be seen. As long as the other held them in their eyes, they were not abandoned places, and after wandering in such places so long - Loki wanted to be seen. He wanted a mirror. _What have I become? What do you think I am?_ He would ask, if he was honest. But he wasn't. So he never asked. And Tony never answered. They wandered deserted hallways and spoke little of themselves. Perhaps in the other the self can be seen. And so it all comes round again - I’m here for myself. I’m here for you. And maybe that’s just another word for I. 

“You never make it easy.” 

“For you?” Loki smiles slightly, leaning down to pick up a piece of a broken tile from the floor, “You like a challenge.”


End file.
